


The Merits of Sandstone

by RaisingCaiin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: As Separate from the Content Thereof, Gen, General Education Requirements, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, Rhetoric, Rhetorical Devices, Sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/pseuds/RaisingCaiin
Summary: Nerdanel faces an examination she would rather not take, and shares some startling conclusions with her audience.





	

Nerdanel should be nervous, and she knows it. Void, this examination is the last thing standing between the general studies required of all young Noldorin craftsfolk and their entry into craft-specific work!

But oh, she is more than ready to be done with the blasted general requirements.

_(It’s not that she can’t see their value. She understands that all Elves are impacted by the way light works, or how societal growth impacts labor demand and conditions, and she acknowledges that it is important for even the craftsfolk to have a basic understanding of such things._

_Really, she’s just ready for someone to acknowledge that she acknowledges that, and let everyone get on with their lives.)_

The other members of her class in speech and rhetoric flutter nervously around the very edges of the Ring, whispering in clumps and staking out seats along the lower levels. They fling nervous sideways glances at each other, at the sandy floor, at the examiners making their meandering way into the higher seats, as if expecting – what, actually? The Liar Himself to materialize out of the slightly humid mid-season air?

Nerdanel snorts. Possible, but doubtful. The Liar’s probably making a nuisance of himself someplace where the stakes actually matter, and He’s said to have a fantastic grasp of rhetoric himself: one dose of her class’s collective ineptitude would probably send Him back beyond Arda howling in despair.

Her classmates’ whispers rise to fever pitch when another examiner, a grey-eyed Noldo taller than his peers by half a head, enters the Ring and starts climbing the steps toward the higher seats. Even Lóton, the grandmaster who has led their class, joins in, and Nerdanel has suddenly had it. With this pretentious class, with the instructor who was supposed to be teaching them useful skills and instead has been trying to curry favor among the few highborn students, and with the educational system that has held her back from her true skills working in stone – all of it!

Irritably, Nerdanel stands on the bench in front of her and leaps to the sandy floor of the Ring. Her back to the examiners, who murmur amongst themselves as they strive in vain to find the most comfortable of the high stone benches, Nerdanel strides across the sand to the small, raised stage at the very center. Ignoring Lóton’s gasps as he finally remembers his actual job, she bounds up the three short steps and comes to stand in front of the podium itself.

From there, Nerdanel finds that she has an excellent view. The way the Ring is constructed – supposedly modeled on the Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom where the Valar deliver judgment from their thrones – the podium does not hinder the speaker from turning and addressing every angle of the tiered seats, every listener on every stone bench. The acoustics are also impressive: she can hear everything. Her classmates’ whispers are intensified, as is Lóton’s out-of-breath pleading that she step down so that the examination can commence.

In a burst of insight, Nerdanel realizes that the Ring is built for the speaker’s benefit, not necessarily the audience’s. Anyone addressing the Ring will be able to hear the whispers of dissent or the murmurs of approval, and adapt their speech accordingly.

Ignoring the steps and Lóton alike as she hops back down, Nerdanel wonders what kind of self-blind idiot would do this of their own choice, and what kind of self-blind devotees would allow it. This type of power, and the immediacy of it, would go to anyone’s head.

It’s a sobering realization about the power of rhetoric, and of its true use in Noldorin society. Listening to Lóton’s bleatings and the grey-eyed examiner finally calling the proceedings to order, though, Nerdanel doubts that this is actually what her class was intended to learn.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The examination format is simple enough. Two Minglings ago, Nerdanel’s class had been given a prompt, and the students have had until now to prepare their responses. They’ll speak in front of the examiners, who will determine whether their grasp of rhetoric is acceptable or not, and that will be that.

_(In all honesty, Nerdanel has paid only negligible attention to this particular examination. Because it is her last general studies requirement, she needs only passing marks, and while she will make the effort in everything she does, the blood and sweat of her best are saved for her most valuable work._

_Luckily, sculpture does not call for the same manipulation that this farce of statesmanship does. Working with stone requires a finesse composed of patience, trust, and skill; plying rhetoric on Elves requires the finesse born of skill alone, neither belief nor trust required. And even then, Elves will fissure under the slightest tap.)_

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Should the laws and customs of the Eldar be formalized or codified to any extent? Why or why not? Discuss your response for at least half a degree of Tree-light, with the unique and credible use of at least  seven of the rhetorical devices introduced in this seminar.”

Valar forfend. The prompt is interesting enough, but the resulting speeches?

“Good morning, examiners. My name is Vinyamardo and in my speech today I will be addressing the question-“

Nerdanel huffs, wishing she had though to try and sneak a small knife into the examinations. No, not to hurt ‘Mardo – the poor child is trying, though why name his media and intention to the examiners there to evaluate those very things? – but to fight the encroaching tedium by paring down her nails.

“Examiners! I am Háyë, and I am here to tell you what I think of the issue of the laws and customs-“

Nerdanel sinks a little lower in her seat. She entertains a pleasant daydream of pulling the other young woman aside to tell her that no one is actually interested in an unmitigated opinion, least of all hers.

“What if I told you, examiners, that the laws and customs of the Eldar are wrong? Well, they are wrong, very wrong, and we are running our great culture, our wonderful new homeland of Aman, into the ground by accepting our laws from the hands of a privileged few. And the Vanyar, at that! I told this to our grandmaster, when he gave us the examination prompt; I said, ‘Lóton, all these dummies have done is set themselves up for a great speech, I mean a really great speech’; but I said I wasn’t going to dump on our kin by the Mountain, for their bad choices, and I said I wouldn’t, so I won’t. But I am here to tell you, my fellow Noldor, something you might not like to hear-“

It is unthinkable for Elves to harm other Elves, but, Nerdanel reflects, perhaps it is a good thing that she did not have her knife after all. What manner of rhetoric does Ambartur imagine he is putting together, there?

By the fifth speech – in a class of twoscore students – Nerdanel is seriously wondering what kind of marks one receives if one simply leaves the Ring before actually making an examination speech. From the glazed looks among the examiners, and the way five of the six have given up on even the pretext of paying attention, it seems that she isn’t the only one. Only the tall, grey-eyed examiner is still taking the requisite notes that will be presented to each student afterwards, explaining their marks. He is also the only one who is still using the examiners’ right to stop or question a speaker, although his remarks have slowly become requests to enunciate, or slow down, rather than comments on students’ actual use of rhetoric.

Nerdanel wonders whether anyone is even counting for the requisite seven devices anymore. She hopes not. It’s the most foolish part of the whole charade, after all.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Nerdanel eventually takes refuge in planning her future journeyman’s piece.

 “Nerdanel.”

It will be done in sandstone, she decides. From what she has seen, most journeymen go for marble or alabaster – stones that they seem to think demonstrate the craftsworker’s competency with perfection, or some such guff. Ridiculous. Sculpture is not meant to be perfect, or pure. And with its striations and bursts of unpredictable color, a piece of deep, oceanic green-blue-grey sandstone is the opposite of artificial perfection.

 “Nerdanel.”

The piece will be a bust, Nerdanel thinks. Of whom, she has yet to decide, but she appreciates the versatility of the bust, in size and in temper. She is not ambitious enough to imagine the piece being perfect, the first time around, but this is a daydream, so she is totally permitted to imagine a little praise untempered by criticism. Although really, who wouldn’t criticize a journeyman’s piece done in the low-level sandstone?

“Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan! If you do not have a speech prepared for today, you will have to re-take this seminar!”

Oh. Ah. Apparently Lóton has been calling her up to the podium for some time. She makes a mental note to revisit the dilemma of the sandstone later.

Nodding to show Lóton she heard, Nerdanel shakes herself upright, marching down to the Ring’s sandy floor and up to the center stage amidst her classmates’ snickers.

Much like earlier, she knows that she should be nervous as she finally comes to stand behind the podium. She finds she isn’t, though. It’s the same as the sandstone, really, the material that will not be accepted for a journeyman’s piece. Neither examination is actually an evaluation of her, or even of her craft, be it rhetoric or be it sculpture. Instead, these examinations are more like tests to see how she follows the rules, and if she passes, she will be permitted to progress to learning another set of rules she will then have to follow.

Her head spinning from the epiphany, Nerdanel looks at the set of notes she’d brought, and suddenly, they seem worthless. Thanks to the Ring’s acoustics, her ears can still discern classmates’ muttering, and the examiners shuffling papers – but now, she realizes, they’re just noise. Her method of adapting her rhetoric to those noises can be to tell them what they don’t want, or think, to hear – which, funnily enough, also happens to be what she wants to say.

Nerdanel looks up, then, and grins at the one grey-eyed examiner whose attention, as unexpectant and technically-oriented as it is, makes him her only true audience here. 

She has never truly cared for rules whose only purpose seems to be obedience to them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“In light of the truly remarkable speeches we have already heard today, I am afraid that mine will seem rather unpolished by comparison. That line contains sarcasm, by the way, not technically a rhetorical device but certainly close enough to count as one of my requisite seven, I’d think.”

From his seat on the lowest bench of the Ring, Lóton gapes. Nerdanel ignores this.

The grey-eyed examiner sits up a little straighter. Nerdanel does not ignore this, but pretends that she didn’t notice. There is a difference between the two strategies.

“In any case, I think I should begin by acknowledging that this class, and the final examination in particular, comprise an exercise in recognizing effect as much as in studying rhetoric. In this case, our examination prompt concerns more the futility of addressing an audience that already has strong, possibly unshakable, pre-existing beliefs on the topic, than it actually does the laws and customs of our people.”

One of the other examiners is elbowed awake by his seatmate. He jolts back to consciousness with a wet snort, and his seatmate begins whispering furiously into his ear. He seems disgruntled until her third sentence. Unfortunately, the Ring’s acoustics don’t account for cupped hands as they do for whispers.

“But never mind that. Apparently we of the Noldor are more interested in the forms and structures of rhetoric than in the ideas it is used to communicate. Is that not so? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way, for my second device.”

The grey-eyed examiner fights to suppress a small smile.

“Anyway. I would ask whoever wrote that examination question to define their terms, since otherwise, I can only suspect that the ambiguity was as planned a trap as the Liar’s own smiles. That’s hyperbole, by the way, for my third device.”

One examiner gasps at the way Nerdanel brings the Dark Vala so casually into a rhetoric examination. The grey-eyed examiner’s mouth twitches.  

“ ‘The laws and customs of the Eldar’ is a dangerously catch-all phrase. It can mean anything its speaker wishes. If you are older than I, and mislike something I say, you can mumble about my dangerous new-fangled opinions that go against ‘the laws and customs of the Eldar,’ I who was obviously born in the Light of the Trees. If I am younger than you, and I mislike something you say, I can sneer that you are stuck following ‘the laws and customs of the Eldar,’ beliefs that were clung to in the dark ages of the Liar’s shadow on Endorë. There’s some anaphora in there for my fourth rhetorical device.”

They grey-eyed examiner has obviously given up on fighting the smile. He simply covers his mouth to try and hide it.   

“Should we codify the laws and customs? We need to know what they are, first. Should we codify them once we know what they are? We ought to know what we mean by codifying, then. Are we establishing today’s rules for tomorrow’s children, with no possibility for revisitation or repeal? We might want to be asking ourselves why we are setting our own fallible rulings in such iron terms: what are we afraid of, that we need to stifle change so drastically? Some _enumeratio_ for you, by the by, as my fifth rhetorical device.”

Her classmates’ laughter is long since gone. Lóton looks to be moments away from jumping up and pulling her off the stage himself. The examiners are finally all awake and scribbling notes. Nerdanel is just surprised that none of them have exercised the right to challenge her. 

“Our current laws and customs were established – and precedents among them are still being created, even now – to address what the Eldar need, according to our still-growing experience of both new problems and their solutions. Codifying –“

“And by precedent, you mean Míriel Þerindë, yes? The way she chose to leave her family and lay down her life, the first among us to do so?”

Nerdanel doesn’t see which examiner asked the question, but everyone in the Ring freezes and falls silent.

“That goes beyond the bounds of this examination, do you not think?” the grey-eyed examiner answers in Nerdanel’s place, glaring at the female examiner who had earlier awakened a peer with her elbow.

“Hardly, Examiner,” Nerdanel is quick to add. “It is a criticism of me and my work, not yours.”

Ignoring his baffled glance but now knowing who to address, Nerdanel turns to the female examiner. “You ask me of the Broideress, Eru rest her spirit, but I think that what you really mean to ask of me is this:  what of Finwë Ñoldóran? Why did he merit an exception, and such a steep one at that?

The Ring is no longer still and silent: the murmurs return with more force.  Someone seated in the stands behind her gives an outraged squawk. (She makes the spot assumption that this is the Crown Prince, Fëanáro Curufinwë. He’s never introduced himself outright, but they all know that the Prince is in their class, supposedly incognito, despite being several Minglings younger. And there could be no one else that invested in a possible slight to Finwë Ñoldóran, King of the Noldor though he might be.)  

Nerdanel continues as though she hadn’t noticed the squawk, or the sudden uptick in rustling papers.

“As I am sure you know, though, all I really know of the matter is the sanitized version that we have all been told. Þerindë left her body, and Ñoldóran continued with his life, after gaining the approval of the Valar in certain aspects of that life.”

“A pretty way of saying he was unfaithful to his one true mate,” the Ring’s acoustics let her hear.

“The truth may not be pretty but it is what we have,” Nerdanel responds. The speaker, one of the older examiners, looks around guiltily when he realizes she can hear him. She shrugs. “And that’s antanagoge, a sixth rhetorical device. Though I would return to the same question of definition as earlier, and ask how you might possibly disprove the Lady Indis as a true mate. No, truly, it is a question!” But the older examiner ducks his head and will not look up. 

Nerdanel shrugs and continues. “I do suspect that whatever happened, it was far more complex than we know. But leaving aside your own personal and political issues with Ñoldóran – you cannot claim that is not why you asked! – Þerindë’s case is actually an excellent example of why the laws and customs might be more effective if focused on the 'customary.' The implications of codifying our law are not slight – litotes, my seventh and final device – and would make us, the Noldor, the most hidebound race in Aman, nay, in Arda, counting our kin still living on the Other Shores. That is metanoia, for a bonus device. A completely codified system of laws and customs would mean that we cannot accept that  our world is a mutable, changing thing, and that we should retain the possibility of adapting to suit, seeing how we are to remain with it until the End. And ah, there, that is my half-degree of Light, so I thank you for your attention, unwilling as it was.”

She jumps off the stage and returns to her seat before anyone can formulate any more leading questions.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The examiners buzz amongst themselves for a while before calling for examinations to proceed. The faltering speeches of her classmates continue as they had before, and the examiners quickly fall back into their lethargy.

The only exception comes toward the end of Laurelin’s light, when a dark-haired male ascends the podium and responds to the examination question with breath-taking fire and poise. Obviously mocking Nerdanel’s earlier decision not to use her notes, this child makes a point of consulting and then setting aside several densely-annotated squares of paper, declaring that he would prefer to face the examiners with true words of the heart, after hearing what he has today. He then proceeds to outline Nerdanel’s points with stunning recall given that _she_ hadn’t put that much thought into her speech (and didn’t think she had much of a point, really), and he rebuts every single thing he claims Nerdanel implied with fist-clenching, rhetorically-stunning sincerity and alacrity.

She’s pretty sure that this is Crown Prince Curufinwë.

She yawns, and picks idly at her fingernails. Maybe-probably-Curufinwë’s podium-pounding can’t give her a headache if she doesn’t listen to it, and she has the far more important matter of the future sandstone bust to consider.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lóton has obviously been waiting until the end of the examination period to come and scold her about her highly unconventional and no doubt disrespectful speech, but the grey-eyed examiner is there first. He has stepped onto the sandy floor and flowed through the crowd of students, parting to let him through, as soon as the grandmaster called the examinations to a close.

_(Maybe-probably Curufinwe had received top marks, of course, and he had given her an unsightly smirk when his scores were higher than hers. That smirk had wavered rather gratifyingly, though, when she simply shrugged at him.)_

The examiner stops a mere arm’s-length from Nerdanel. “They gave your class a difficult prompt this year.”

“They did,” she replies, continuing to re-pack her bag. She had brought only scant supplies – just a waterskin and an apple beside her notes – and they are quickly stowed, leaving her to turn and face the examiner. “Though I wonder what you imagine you accomplish by reminding me of a definite fact that I have grappled with at length this very day.”

She thinks that the expression that fights its way onto his face is probably half a smile. “You truly are as frank as your speech suggested.”

Nerdanel shrugs. “Perhaps. And there’s another thing I’m not good at: making self-evident observations with such a pointed air that other people feel compelled to shame for their perfectly reasonable actions.”

Now the expression is definitely a full smile. “Hmm, indeed. Actually, child – Nerdanel, was it? – despite your reservations about your grasp of language and its intricacies, I suspect you would make a most frightening speaker, and indeed a breed of that creature that I suspect the Noldor will need soon. Despite our value on high rhetoric, we would be well served to learn the plain speaking you so prize.”

No, she will not be changing her craft based on one examiner’s compliments, no matter how prettily phrased, and she lets him know that. “Then that’s what the seminar should teach, not the high-flown rhetoric. I wasn’t there, but my Atar was, and apparently it was plain speech that prompted the Crossing here in the first place. You can ask him if you like.”

A third smile blooms on the grey-eyed examiner’s face, and this one is all the more warm and genuine for the way he does not even try to suppress it. “Some would tell you otherwise, but that is the subject for another seminar – next year’s final examination question, perhaps. ‘How would you respond to a well-spoken Vala who promised your people eternal light and peace? Defend your decision for half a degree of Light with a minimum of rhetorical devices.’ Yes, that I would like to see. Regardless. I can only hope that you never face such trials as the Crossing or the separation from a loved one, child.”

“Eh.” Nerdanel shrugs off the praise, if praise that speech was meant to be. “And I can only hope that you consider breaking that habit of ending arguments you can’t win with increasingly personal comments that cannot be declined without the semblance of rudeness on the receiver’s part.” The examiner laughs outright at that, a nice graduation from the smile. “And I suppose that all either of us can hope for is that we would face such a challenge with the same equanimity."

“We – would?” The examiner seems confused for a moment. He scrutinizes her face, and Nerdanel shuffles her feet, truly self-conscious for the first time that never-ending day. Is there a smear of dirt on her cheek?

But whatever the examiner is looking for, or at, he seems to dismiss it. Instead, he tells her, quite gravely, “I can only hope that you are correct, child. For equanimity is harder to come by than people think, without having faced the same challenges. Whatever else about your speech I disagreed with, I am in complete concurrence with that.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Lóton catches up with her soon afterwards, and for some reason, is less angry than his earlier gaping would have suggested. “A gutsy move, daring to suggest that King Finwë needed defending,” he tells her in his usual babbling way.

“I didn’t,” Nerdanel says shortly. She can see that the grey-eyed examiner has now stopped to speak with maybe-probably Curufinwë, who is gesturing toward her with impassioned movements.  “I just answered the question.”

“To his face, though, to his face?!” Lóton gushes, and Nerdanel thinks, _oh_.

Ñoldóran’s profile would look good in sandstone, though, she thinks.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I teach a couple of these general requirement classes, and let me tell you, there’s always at least one of these smartasses. Although heavily exaggerated, Lóton's and Finwë's approaches really embody two of the main ways of coping. 
> 
> This is also trying out some concepts that I might return to in the future. Like, what do you call a measurement of time as indicated by two cosmogonic, phosphorescent Trees? 
> 
> Oooh, and bonus points if this is the speech that Fëanor spends his entire life trying to one-up. Doom of the Noldor? It’s because Fëanor got upstaged in his first mock-trial, and the fake-nerd girl who beat him didn’t even care. 
> 
> And finally, ardent thanks to the creator of Quenya101, who provided the extraordinarily relevant translation "Ambartur" (https://quenya101.com/names/d-names/#Donald)


End file.
